Three Days In Florida
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: Josh and Donna head to Florida for a quick visit to Mrs. Lyman. Shenanigans ensue.


The sound of crashing waves jars me out of my slumber and I jolt upright, completely disoriented. I glance around at my surroundings, trying to shake out the cobwebs, and it slowly comes back to me. I'm at my mother's house in Florida. I rarely stay here, which is why nothing feels familiar. Of course, it seems I just woke up from a nap, which I never do, not unless it's post-coital.

Speaking of…

I look down at the other side of the bed. Empty. I reach over and touch the dent in the pillow, finding it cold and wonder where Donna disappeared to. I check myself out quickly, simultaneously relieved and disappointed to find I'm wearing clothes. I only sort of remember lying down earlier.

I run my hands through my hair, yawning as I scratch my scalp tiredly. We've only been here for a day and a half—we got in really late Thursday night and my mother has been dragging us around her neighborhood and town nonstop since, showing me and her "future daughter-in-law" off to anyone who seems even remotely interested. It being a large Jewish community, _everyone_ is interested. Everyone wants to meet Alice Lyman's son and his shiksa girlfriend. Donna held her own, though, standing up to everyone's scrutiny, using just the right amount of Yiddish to sound comfortable but not like she was trying too hard to impress a bunch of strangers.

I yawn again and stretch, checking the time on my watch. Not too late. Either I didn't sleep long or it was early when we crawled in bed for a nap.

I hear what sounds like laughter and I pause, straining my ears to track down the sound. I don't think it's coming from the kitchen or the living room—the place really isn't that big, especially not compared to the house in Connecticut—there are only so many places they could be.

I drag myself off the bed and over to the window, though I can't see much more than the fence and the path that leads down to the beach. Seems like as good a place to start as any. I make a quick detour to the bathroom to swish around some mouthwash. I'm sure Donna will appreciate it.

I don't bother to put on shoes as I head out the back door, and I wince as the hot sand hits my feet, immediately forcing me to double back and rethink that decision. Florida in July. It's quite the experience. It's stickier than DC, hotter than hell, and filled with people that, quite frankly, I don't want to see in bathing suits. The only saving grace is the ocean breeze that cools things off ever-so-slightly—or, at least, keeps the hot air from completely stagnating.

Even with shoes the ground still feels hot, and I make my way carefully down the short path to the swatch of beach mostly reserved for my mom's community, the sound of laughter growing closer.

"Do I even want to know what you're laughing at?" I ask as the two women in my life come into view. Their heads pop up but neither looks surprised to see me.

"Hi, darling. Did you have a nice nap?"

I can't help but roll my eyes a little. "Ma, you make me sound like a toddler."

"What's with this 'Ma' business lately?" she asks, rolling her eyes at me in return. "Have you been watching too many movies with Jewish families? Is that it?"

"You just seem to be having a lot of 'Ma' moments lately. My apologies, Mother." She's never been a big fan of being called "Mother" either, and as her child, I rarely can resist trying to annoy her. "The nap was good, thanks." I turn to Donna, unable to help the smile that tugs at my lips when I see her. "And you—you were there when I fell asleep. What happened?"

"I woke up," she answers with a shrug. "You were dead to the world and I figured you probably needed the sleep. You've only been in there alone for about half an hour—I would've come to get you soon."

I bend down to kiss her and she glances at my mother, but doesn't push me away. I keep my lips pressed to hers for a few long, sweet moments before pulling back. Donna's cheeks are a little pink and she ducks down, staring at her hands. I can understand where she's coming from; I feel a little awkward kissing her in front of her parents, too. However, kissing Donna has become so second nature that I didn't give it another thought. I rub her shoulder and look over at my mother, who is actively avoiding look at either of us. I glance around and realize my mother only has two beach chairs—granted, that's one more than she needs on average. No matter.

I give Donna's shoulder blade a gentle nudge and she looks up at me. I cock my head a little and she scoots forward, making room for me to squeeze in behind her. She settles against my chest almost instantly, my arms finding a comfortable home around her waist.

"So, you've just moved past needing words, have you?" My mother's voice jars both of us out of our silent transaction. "It's eerie when you do that."

I shrug helplessly as Donna's fingers weave through mine. "Sorry, Mom. Half the time, we don't even realize we're doing it until someone brings it up."

"I guess it means I've known him too long," Donna answers, and I nudge her with my leg.

"My condolences."

"Ouch, Mom. Thanks for that."

"All I'm saying is that she's got to be very patient to put up with the likes of you for all these years."

"I thought Jewish mothers were supposed to worship their sons. What kind of mishegas is this?"

"Be nice to your mother," Donna says, elbowing me in the sternum.

"I rest my case," Mom answers smugly, settling back in her chair.

I shake my head and roll my eyes, though I know it's all in good fun. I really do adore my mother, and I'm mostly sure the feeling's mutual—she just happens to like Donna a lot more. Always has. On the upside, Donna's always been very fond of my mom, and though neither of them has ever disclosed any details, I'm pretty sure they connected during my recovery all those years ago and have always managed to remain close.

"You good?" I ask Donna softly. "Need sunscreen or something?"

"No, I just put some on a little while ago."

"I swear the poor thing has to put it on every hour," my mom adds. "The curse of the fair skin."

"It's not so bad after a few days," Donna answers. "As long as I keep myself lathered up for a day or two and let myself turn a little pink, I'll usually tan pretty nicely. If haven't been in the sun for a while, I have to be careful about not becoming a lobster."

I tighten my arms around her and kiss her shoulder—sure enough, the coconutty taste of her sunscreen greets my lips. "Why did you leave me all alone?"

"You big baby," she answers affectionately. "You can sleep on your own, you know."

"Can, but that doesn't mean I want to."

"I wanted to spend some quality time with the ocean. Your mom came out a few minutes later to keep me company."

"Did you know that Donna has spent almost no time with the Atlantic? Or at the beach in general?" my mom asks, and I shrug.

"I guess that's what happens when you grow up in Wisconsin with all the cows."

"Even though she's lived in Washington for how many years now?"

I look up at my mom's tone, jumping a little at the sharp expression on her face. "How's that my fault? DC's nowhere near the beach."

"You never exactly gave her time off when she worked for you, did you?"

"Mom…we all worked like that. If I was busy, Donna was busy.

"You work too much, too."

I sigh, burying my face in Donna's hair for a few seconds. For her part, Donna has remained quiet and absolutely still, like an animal in a forest waiting to see if the hunter has noticed her. "Mom…we're helping to run the country. We've been doing that for years. It's more than a full time job."

Mom takes a deep breath, but Donna cuts in smoothly. "Truthfully, Mrs. Lyman, we probably didn't take the time off work we should have because it would have meant being away from each other for too long. We may have been repressed but we were severely co-dependent. It was easier just to go to work every day. Besides, even if I'd taken a trip to the beach, he would have called me every hour."

My mother smiles at her, and I feel such a surge of pride at how Donna answered that. If she were so inclined, she would be excellent running for office. Of course, she's not actually lying, either. I did tend to monopolize most of her time, though not always by design. However, it wouldn't be at all stretching the truth to say that I'd invent reasons to keep her at the office or to call her back in.

"Donna, you can call me Alice, you know. How many years have I been telling you this?"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Lym—uh…sorry. I guess I'm just not there yet."

"You're living with my son for heaven's sake. How much more there could you be?" Mom asks, exasperated. "Don't you think your kids are going to wonder why you call Grandma 'Mrs. Lyman'?"

I'm not sure which one of us starts sputtering and choking first, but we're both definitely gasping for air in no time. "Mom!" I manage to squeak out, but she looks unrepentant.

"I'm just saying."

"And here I'd thought you'd want to be called _Bubbe_," Donna tells her, trying to get herself back under control.

Mom just grins. "Me and everyone else I know. Can you imagine my part gentile grandchildren calling me _Bubbe_?"

Donna looks up at me, a vague look of panic on her face, one I'm sure is mirrored on mine. This is not a conversation we've had, nor is it one I intend to have for the first time with my mother present.

"Ease off a little, would you, Mom? We're just here to visit and relax a little."

"Sorry." I don't believe her for a moment, though. I grab Donna's glass off the table next to us, chugging half the contents before I realize it's very sour lemonade. I almost drop the glass as I cough at the unexpected sensation, Donna lifting up onto her knees to pat and rub my back, her body shaking as she tries not to laugh too hard.

"You all right?" I shake my head, whimpering pathetically, and she laughs out loud this time, cradling my head to her chest. "Look before you sip, Josh."

"I'm not a lemonade person," I gasp, my face still puckering at the sensation.

"I know that; that's why it was my glass, not yours. No one told you to chug."

I make another noise and she hugs my head close, scratching her fingers through my hair. I realize I'm being completely pathetic, but I feel terribly violated. It's not at all her fault I drank it, nor is it her fault that I only like lemonade when it's extraordinarily sweetened or mixed with iced tea. She and my mother are alike in that they enjoy the sour bite of the lemon flavor.

Also, though, when Donna's willing to baby me, I'm not usually inclined to act like a grownup. She's very comforting. On the other hand, when she comforts me like this, it's not uncommon for it to lead to other things, so maybe…

Probably thinking along those same lines, Donna lets me go, though she scratches my head a few more times. We both look over to find my mother watching us with an odd look on her face.

Donna shifts again, pushing herself to her feet. "I'm gonna go shower."

"Now?" I squeak, gripping onto her hand.

"Yeah. We've been walking around in the heat all day and I've got about a dozen layers of sunscreen on. Besides, you've hardly spent any time alone with your mother since we got here." Her eyes are wide, still filled with a strange look of vague panic, though her voice is sweet and innocent. She's good.

"Mom doesn't want to spend time with just me," I protest, trying to tug her back to me.

"Her only son? Of course she does." Before I can respond, she leans down and presses a kiss to my lips, the desperation obvious. It's effective in distracting me, though, and she slips off down the short path to the house before I can think up a counter-argument.

"Have I mentioned lately how much I love Donna?" Mom's voice cuts through my thoughts and I turn my gaze back to her, trying to settle casually into my chair.

"Not today," I answer honestly—she has mentioned repeatedly during this visit how much she approves of my girlfriend, and while I suppose it could get annoying on a daily basis, there are worse things in the world than your mother liking your significant other. It hasn't happened a whole lot for me other the years. She never met Mandy, but she knew how generally unhappy I was when with her, so she immediately disliked her on principal. She met Amy once by accident, passing through town a couple of months after Amy and I started seeing each other and instantly hated her. My mother has always been reluctant to sue the word "hate" in regard to anyone, at least not without sufficient, extensive reasons. I didn't give it much credence at the time, chalking it up to an overprotective Jewish mother and her only son, but Amy made her hackles go up, immediately putting her on the defensive. In retrospect, I realize that Amy is a very polarizing person—she's smarter than hell, she's savvy, she's good at getting what she wants, but that singular focus can often come at the price of anything and anyone else. She's also always unintentionally snarky and snippy, even when well-intended, and when meeting someone's parents for the first time, that's usually not the best way to win favor. Of course, her most heinous crime was that she's not Donna. Mom had decided long before Amy came along that Donna and I were meant for each other and it was ridiculous for me to pursue anyone else. She kept telling me I was wasting my time and that it'd never work with Amy. She was desperate for me to marry Donna, even back then, especially when she had a side-by-side comparison of them woman I was sleeping with and the woman around which my world revolved. I don't think Donna ever said anything about whether or not she liked Amy—and I know Donna tried hard to like her and wasn't always successful—but my mom wasn't having it. She didn't have much in the way of opinions about anyone I dated in college, and she more or less stuck her nose up at anyone I happened to mention since then. If it wasn't Donna, she considered it a transient affair and not worthy of note.

"Well, I really like Donna."

"I know, Mom. I really like her, too."

"I'm glad you finally pulled your head out of your ass with her."

I snort, mainly because my mom doesn't swear much. Her mostly conservative upbringing holds her back at times, but I think that at this point, she just likes to get a reaction. "Well, I'm glad, too, Mom. She's pretty amazing."

"I've been telling you this for years."

"I know, I know. You were right. Who's surprised?"

She settles back in her chair and even though all I can see is her profile, I can see the smug expression on her face. I relax, too, reaching for the glass of lemonade again and stopping myself at the last second.

"Where is this going with her?"

And there it is. "Mom…."

"Don't I have a right to know?"

"It's absolutely none of your business."

"But I'm your mother."

"Donna and I are the ones in this relationship, and we're the ones who decide what's going to happen."

"It's not a casual thing, right?"

I sigh and rub my eyes. I'm fairly certain I feel a migraine coming on. "Mom, seriously."

"I just want to see you settled down."

"I _am_ settled down, Ma."

She turns in her chair, fixing me with a look I haven't been on the receiving end of in close to thirty years. "Don't 'Ma' me and you're _not_ settled."

I groan in exasperation. "So, you think I'm what? Casually shacking up with my girlfriend? That we're roommates with benefits?"

"Don't be crude."

"I'm not."

"Donna's perfect for you."

"I know that. Of course I know that." Whatever the popular opinion might be, I'm not a complete idiot. I realize how lucky I am and that I'll never find a better match.

She looks at me imploringly. "I just want you to be happy and—"

"Settled. Yeah. I got it. I am happy with her, you know. Happier than I ever have been. But you've got to give it a rest."

"You're going to marry her, right?"

There's that word. I don't get the sense of panic and doom when I hear someone ask me about getting married that I would have at any other point with any other person, but I do know that it doesn't feel right yet. "Mom, we haven't…we've only been together for a few months."

"Eight months, right? Since November?"

"Yeah. What—do you have it marked on the calendar?"

"But you've really been together for years."

"Not really."

"Josh…"

"Seriously. Sure, we were around each other for years but we weren't actually dating." I tried arguing that with Donna once. She made me understand that I was wrong.

Mom throws her hands up in exasperation. "You're not even dating now! You're living together. Didn't you mention how you decided to skip that part since you've known each other for so long?"

"It's not the same thing."

"So," she says, giving me her best whipped puppy look. "You're _not_ going to marry her?"

"How did you hear that?"

"You're going to marry her?"

"Mom!"

"I want grandchildren, Joshua. All of my friends have pictures of their grandchildren and I have bupkis."

I shake my head, trying to keep up with the conversation. "Your son got a man elected to President less than a year ago. He helped another man get into that office twice before that. That should count for something."

"It really doesn't, darling," she tells me, shaking her head like I'm some sort of simpleton.

"You know, I've been a little busy for the last twenty five years, Mom. I've had other things to do."

"Life is what happens you're busy making other plans," she tells me sagely, and all I can do is roll my eyes at the cheesiness of it all.

"Deep, Ma. What are you—a fortune cookie?"

"I'm just saying you make time for these things, Joshua. If you want them, you have to find time. There's never a good moment to get married or to have kids—never—but they happen and it's the best thing in your life."

I sigh, running my hands through my in frustration for a few moments. "Donna and I just want to be together right now, okay? We're just enjoying each other's company."

"Seriously? That's what you're calling it? 'Enjoying each other's company'?"

"Mom, really, you've got to calm down about this."

"Joshua, I want grandkids."

"Well, I can tell you for sure I'm not having kids just so you can show off pictures."

"Sweetheart—"

"Cool it, Mom. If it's going to happen, it'll be when Donna and I are ready."

"You're not getting any younger, you know."

I wince, even though I know it's the truth. "Thanks, Mom."

She winces, too, reaching out for my hand, which I give to her willingly. "I didn't mean it that way."

"Well, be that as it may, Donna's still young, or at least young enough so it won't be an issue for a while."

I swear her face lights up like a Christmas tree. "So…you want to have kids with Donna?"

"If I were to have kids, I'd want her to be their mother, yes."

My mom looks so crestfallen it's almost comical. "If?"

I know she's fishing. I know she wants something concrete. I also know if I give her anything that sounds remotely definitive, she'll latch on like a dog with a bone. There's also the fact that "if" doesn't feel nearly as scary as "when," even though "when" would be the appropriate word, really. "If. Yes."

I can actually see my mother shifting gears. "Don't you think you should talk to her about the whole 'if' thing? She's probably going to want kids, you know."

"Mom, don't worry about what we have and haven't talked about. That really is between us."

"Donna's okay with 'if'?"

"I love you, but that's none of your business."

She looks honestly offended by that. "You're my only child—it absolutely is my business."

"No, it'll be your business if we call you up and tell you're we're expecting or even if we're trying. Beyond that, it's between me and Donna."

"Your future wife," she smirks, looking like the cat that at the canary, and I'm suddenly aware of where the smug expression Donna tells me I wear constantly comes from. Of course, I've also confirmed without confirming that I really do intend to see this through with Donna.

Still, she's being incredibly thick-headed right now. "Mom…"

"You know I already love her like a daughter." Her voice is soft and my heart goes out to her. I don't remember a whole lot about my sister, though by all accounts she was nothing like Donna. I know my mom's not looking to replace Joanie, either—she just loves Donna, and Donna helps to fill that hole for her a little.

"I know. She loves you, too."

"I just want you to be happy."

"And here we are again."

"Josh…"

"I've never been this happy in my life, okay?" I tell her adamantly, meaning it with every fiber of my being. "At the moment, it's not contingent on a ring or a piece of paper or offspring. It's just happiness for the sake of happiness. I'm crazy in love with her. Looking at her makes me happy. For now, it's enough."

She sighs in resignation, looking at me speculatively before slumping in her chair. A few moments later, she starts digging around in her ever-present bag, just about the only nod to the fact that she's technically a little old lady. She pulls out what looks a small envelope—kind of birthday party invitation sized but thicker. "I want you have something," she tells me, holding it out in my direction.

"What is it?" I ask warily, automatically reaching out for the package. I'm surprised to find that it's solid and a little heavy.

"It's part of your inheritance."

Well, that's a little confusing—I thought all of that had been taken care of and handed off years ago. I pop open the tiny clasp, surprised to find it really more like a box than an envelope. The tiny hinges creak as I pull the sides open and I actually gasp in shock when a shining diamond catches the sun. An engagement ring. My mother was carrying an engagement ring around with her.

"It was your grandmother's," she tells me, breaking me out of my stupor.

I look up at her, my mouth opening and closing several times. "Mom," I whisper, unable to say more. Seeing a ring, holding it in my hand, has done something very strange and indefinable to my brain.

She puts her hand carefully on top of mine, making sure to not cover the ring. "Just…hold onto it, okay? You can use it, you can find your own, but give it to her at some point, even if you're already married. She'll love that it's an heirloom."

My heart starts galloping, thundering in my chest so hard it feels like it's going to escape. I have an engagement ring. In theory, I could go inside right now and drop down on one knee and propose—I suppose I could do that at any point, ring or not, but this makes it all the more real. I've known—of course I've known—almost since we got together, and maybe at times before, that I was going to marry Donna at some point. We haven't talked about it any sort of detail, that much is true, but we do both know this relationship is the one.

"Mom…I can't…what if I lose it?" Of all the things for me to worry about right now.

"Put it in your safe deposit box when you get home."

"What if Donna sees it before then?"

"Then you better do a good job of hiding it."

I look at the ring in its little nest, still dumbfounded. "She's gonna see it and think…"

"Would that be so horrible?"

"If she's not ready to be asked, yes!" I exclaim, unable to stop staring at the ring. "Or if I'm not ready to ask but she sees it and wants it."

"Then I suggest you talk to her about it either of those cases. Judging by how panicked you look right now, I guess you're really not ready."

"This is what I'm telling you."

She sighs, giving my hand a squeeze before shifting back into her chair. "Well, the ring is yours no matter what. Do with it what you will. But, for the love of God, don't sell it."

I chuckle weakly, finally plucking up the courage to take the ring from its home, holding it up in the bright afternoon sunlight. At first glance, it seems almost simple—a silvery-looking band, though I'm sure it's not actually silver, dominated by a good sized chunk of ice. I don't know from diamonds but I do know this one is…on the larger side. But as I look closer, I can see that the band has delicate etchings on the side, and that the square-cut diamond is surrounded by smaller ones, making the whole thing shine like a second sun. I have the oddest sensation that this ring is a metaphor for Donna. Delicate and understated when you first meet her, but actually full of elegance and grace, and a smile so bright it could light up the world.

I think I'm in trouble.

"It's gorgeous, Mom. Really."

"It'll look good on Donna," she says softly, and when I glance up at her, her expression is hopeful. "Or…you can shop around. Maybe you should do that anyway, make sure this is the right ring. According to what your father told me a million years ago, some rings just don't feel right. I don't know if it's because you, hopefully, know this woman so well that you can see how it reflects her personality, or because you know her taste in jewelry, or if there's some strange, cosmic direction you're being pointed in, but I do know that the one he gave me felt like it was supposed to be on my hand. I just hope you find the right one for her."

I give myself a little shake, trying to bring myself back to the world. "Uh…which grandmother did it belong to?"

"It was my mother's." She smiles sadly. "Your father's mother…well, having an engagement ring was probably the least of her concerns."

I shudder a little, knowing that she'd hardly been married to my grandfather when he shipped her off to America. She didn't even know she was pregnant with my father until some time later and was stuck mostly on her own for a few years until my grandfather, along with a few other prisoners, escaped Birkenau and managed to find passage to the States. Neither of them was terribly fond of talking about that time in their lives, but I'm guessing my mom is completely correct and that jewelry of any kind was very low on the list of priorities.

"You don't…I mean, it's yours, isn't it? You don't want it?"

"What am I going to do with it? I'm an old woman, darling. I don't have any use for it. Why do you think I sold the old house? What was I going to do with all that space? This is something you can use now. Besides," she says, holding up her left hand and smiling a little sadly, "it's only ever fit here and I can't bring myself to take off my own rings." I don't really know how to answer that, but I can only imagine that I were in the same situation—particularly with Donna—I wouldn't want to or be able to let it go in that way, either.

I don't think my mom's holding onto my father in an unhealthy way, but I can't see her ever remarrying or anything close to that. Not that I don't want her to be happy, and I certainly wouldn't feel like she's forgetting my father or betraying him in some way, but I think she's done. I hope she has companionship and people around her, and I'd like to think I'd be happy for her if she found love again—because she deserves to be happy—but I don't think that's the sort of thing she's interested in. Romance, I mean. I get it, though. I may not quite be ready to get married, but I do know that if something happened to Donna—now or forty years from now—I'd be devastated and know that I wouldn't be at all interested in finding someone else.

But if I know Donna's the grand finale for me, why am I so panicked at the thought of marrying her? I know I want to be with her. I've known that for a long time. I know I do _want_ to marry her at some point. I really like the idea of all that—something about picturing Donna in a wedding dress, walking down the aisle toward me, exchanging vows of forever—does weird things to my insides and makes me feel giddy, as long as I don't think of it in an immediate sense.

"What's holding you back, darling?" Mom asks softly.

I shrug, running a hand through my hair again. "It took us nine years to get to this point, Mom. Nine. Years. It seems counterintuitive, but I don't want to rush all of this. I want to give her everything. I want to give her the world. I want her to know how important she is…it's hard to explain. I mean, I guess there's no better way of letting her know what she means to me than asking her to spend the rest of our lives together but…I don't know. I guess I just like being her boyfriend right now. Sounds childish and goofy, right? I just want to savor what we have because I really like what we have."

I'm not sure if Mom is confused or understands perfectly. "If you're not in a rush…why were you living together after less than two months of dating?"

Confused it is. "Technically, we weren't living together yet, despite all outward appearances. It was being sublet but she still had her own apartment. She wasn't getting her mail at my—_our_—place or anything."

"But her stuff was there. I mean, I saw it all over the place when I was there last December. It looked more like you'd been living together for years than dating a few weeks."

"Well, I'm sure that had a lot to do with how long we've known each other and how much a part of me she's always been. She kind of fit right in at the apartment, like she was always supposed to be there. The official moving-in-together wasn't until March. I'll admit that I asked her after being together for all of about two weeks, and I just wanted her around all the time. But wanting to live with her isn't quite the same as being ready to get married."

"Isn't it kind of tough for you two, though, working where you work and living in Washington—don't lots of people question your morals?"

I snort with laughter—she can be so innocent sometimes. "People have always questioned our morals—the collective us, I should say. We're certainly not going to get married because a bunch of far-right conservatives think that's the only situation appropriate for two adults, and I kind of like the idea that we're helping to get rid of the stigma of people living together without being married. It's ridiculous and old-fashioned. People test-drive cars and those don't last nearly as long as marriages are supposed to. It absolutely makes sense we take this part of us for a test drive."

"You're comparing your relationship with Donna to a car?"

"Only in a very small way. We're leasing with an option to buy."

"Well, consider the ring a down payment on the purchase."

My eyes snap to the forgotten engagement ring in my fingers; it sparkles at me innocently. Shiny little bastard. I carefully put it back into its little nest, closing the box gently. I hold it out to my mom for half a second before I change my mind and shove it into one of the hundred pockets in my shorts. I'll stick it in my backpack after Donna's done in the shower. Technically, it's my ring now anyway—might as well hold onto it. Donna doesn't go into my bag much anyway, not since I became Chief of Staff and there are more things she, among others, aren't supposed to be privy to. She shouldn't come across it before I can put it somewhere safe.

Mom's eyes grow wide and her grin threatens to take over her face. "Really? Joshua, really?"

"Not yet but…it can't hurt to have it, right?"

Her eyes get watery anyway and I reach out to squeeze her hand. She's meddlesome and pushy, but I love her to death. It's sweet that she cares so much about my happiness, and it's even better that she likes Donna as much as she does. I wouldn't be terribly surprised if she's been pushing her agenda off on Donna, too, the last few days. If not, she will be after this conversation. She might be a touch more subtle than with me, but she'll definitely put out a few feelers.

Mom clears her throat suddenly and pulls her sunglasses over her eyes, sitting back into her lounge chair. "So, what do you two want to do for dinner?"

I look at her curiously, settling back into my chair, too. "We told you—whatever you want to do. Donna and I want to treat you."

"There's really no need for that. I'm the mother—let me pay."

"You're giving us a place to stay and putting up with the invasion in your home. Buying you a nice meal is the least we can do."

"You're my kids, Josh—I love having you here. I'm not at all 'putting up' with you."

"Donna's pretty stubborn, Mom. She's had her heart set on this."

"She's had her heart set on buying me dinner?"

"She just wants to be able to give back. You don't want to break her heart, do you?"

"Whose heart are we breaking?" Donna asks, her voice appearing out of almost nowhere behind me.

"Yours, apparently," Mom answers, unable to hide her pure delight at seeing Donna here. "My son says you want to buy me a meal."

Donna's hand comes to rest on my head, her nails gently scratching my scalp—I think I almost start to purr. "We do. I know it's silly, but we really want to."

Donna talks in "we's" now—almost everything has gone from "I" or "me" to "we" and "us," and I know I do the same. We're a unit—a codependent unit that now seems to rarely consider doing things apart. Neither of us noticed it was happening until Sam pointed it out—actually, he mentioned how he and his fiancée weren't nearly as tuned in and on the same wavelength as Donna and I are. It didn't take me long to realize he was right, though I think I got him out of California just in time. Using phrases like "tuned in" and "wavelength" is kind of ridiculous.

"You know it's completely unnecessary, right? I appreciate the gesture but there's no need to thank me in any way for staying here."

"Please, Mrs. Lyman? It'd be a mitzphah."

Mom lifts her sunglasses, her eyes now clear and dry, her mouth quirking up at the corner. "That's not quite the way to use that word, but you get points for trying. Sit down and relax for a little while, though, darling, and we'll talk about it."

I adjust my legs and Donna immediately sits down between them, nestling against my chest. Her clean scent, mixed with a fresh layer of sunscreen, hits me like a wave and I struggle not to bury my face in her soft hair. It really is vaguely nauseating just how in love with her I am, and how much just being around her makes me happy. She's done wonders for my blood pressure. Even when I see other guys leer at her or try to ask her out, I just remind myself that, among other things, I'm the only one who gets to see her naked, that every day she wakes up and picks me, and that when she goes to sleep at night, lying in _our_ bed in _our_ apartment, it's because she's chosen me…despite all my neuroses. It has a very soothing effect.

"I know a lovely little seafood place just a couple of miles from here. All of their food is caught locally and the menu changes daily."

"What about—" Donna starts, but my mom cuts her off.

"They have hamburgers and things, too, so Josh can still get his burnt piece of meat."

Donna shudders against me and I wrap my arms around her waist as I chuckle. "Where on earth did he pick up that disgusting habit?" she asks my mom, who just laughs.

"Hey!" I exclaim. "Raw meat is disgusting. I like my food cooked."

I can't see it, but I know she rolls her eyes. "We're still working on sushi." I make a face and sigh, resting my chin on her shoulder as the two of them veer off into a conversation about my "strange" eating habits.

This is the life.

* * *

I wrote this thing in May 2018. I have no idea why it took me so long to type it up. But I think it means that particular notebook is finally done. I do have another one I'm busily working on filling. I've got other stuff I'm hoping to actually start at some point, probably of the smut variety. This is another terrible title because absolutely nothing came to mind for it.

Anyone going to the West Wing Weekly finale in LA in January? If you are, are you stoked?


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